


The Handers Fairy Ficlets

by daggerpen



Series: Handers Fairy Fics [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other, warnings at the top of each ficlet if applicable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 5,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4480982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daggerpen/pseuds/daggerpen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For #andermance's Hawke/Anders week, I sent random Handers bloggers on Tumblr various anonymous Hawke/Anders fics from "The Handers Fairy". This is all of them. Friendmance only, Hawke's gender and class is kept nonspecific for all of them for maximum Handers goodness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The recipient publication deadline has officially expired - while unpublished fics are welcome to publish whenever they so wish, I am no longer withholding fics. As such, this is now completed! I hope you enjoy!

Hawke is laughing.

This puzzles Anders, at first. Hawke's always been the easily amused sort, but he really can't imagine what his lover could possibly find so entertaining on, of all things, the  _Mages' Collective Board_. Anders shrugs and tries to ignore it, turning his attention back to the vials in his hand.

Things have been scarce since their first night out of Kirkwall - Anders had left his usual supplies pack behind the night of the Uprising, hardly expecting to... to have occasion for it. And there'd hardly been time after Meredith to run back home to pack. Elfroot, at least, has been plentiful along the roads - but lyrium has been another matter entirely. They'd barely been able to spare the coin for one, the Collective representative one of the few left with any sources at all. Maybe he can offer-

Maker, why is Hawke  _still_ laughing? Anders turns to his lover, only to find the former Champion ushering him over, lips pulled in the widest grin Anders has seen in _months_.

"What's so funny?" Anders asks, confused. Hawke just points to a notice, big and bold in the middle of the board, and he can only stare for a long, long while.

"They... they want a copy of my manifesto?" Anders asks, disbelieving.

"Mhm," Hawke whispers back. "For 'widespread distribution and rallying purposes', I believe."

Anders opens his mouth, trying to find the words.

"I can't believe it," he mutters eventually.

"You should," Hawke tells him, serious for once. "They're finally rising up. And it's because of you."

"No, I mean..." Anders says quietly, "I can't believe it. I don't... I don't have a single copy on me."

They both laugh for a good, long while at that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild animal harm cw (non-graphic) for this one

She's a half-starved little thing when they find her. Nothing but mats, skin and bones - and fewer than average of the latter, a lost hind limb only a few weeks healed over.

They've found cats while on the run before, of course. Hawke's heart breaks a little every time, watching Anders fawn over the small creatures and knowing that they cannot keep any of them. Fugitive life is no place for a cat. But this one is so small and fragile, might not even survive the night, and Maker take them both but Hawke doesn't have the heart to tell him 'no.'

Varric's letter arrives the next day. It's Corypheus. The demons, the rifts, the refugees fleeing from more than templars and bandits (Hawke will not refer to them as 'apostates' - the templars have their vows and their cause; the handful of mages turning on refugees have nothing between them but a few shared skills). Hawke's stomach feels like lead. If they hadn't stumbled into that trap, if they hadn't been so fucking careless...

This is all Hawke's fault. Hawke doesn't know what all they can offer, but they have to - they have to try _something_. Offer something to the Inquisition, make up for it somehow.

But Hawke remembers the Deep Roads under Kirkwall, the Taint in Anders' blood and the commands searing through his mind and they can't... they can't risk him like that again.

Maker.

So they say their reluctant farewells, Hawke trundling up their pack and leaving Anders with nothing but a promise of letters and a half-dead cat, and prays with a heretic's lips to return.

They meet again in the Anderfels, a dry, harsh land, by a fortress older than some cities, with weary lines around their eyes and an embrace tight enough Hawke thinks their ribs might crack and they wouldn't mind it at all.

Anders' pack meows when they break apart.

"Her name is Grand Enchanter Jellybean Toes," Anders says sheepishly of their newest party member, running a hand over her fur as she wobbles around their legs.

"A noble beast," Hawke proclaims, and Maker, it's good to be home.


	3. Chapter 3

Anders doesn't bring a lot with him when he moves in. A small sheaf of various drafts of his manifesto (which quickly become scattered and lost throughout the house); an old, worn scarf repaired with the tight, steady stitches of a healer's hands; and a pillow, beaten and well loved, with small flowers embroidered on both sides.

"It was my mother's," Anders explains of the latter when Hawke finally gives into the curiosity. "It's the only thing of hers they let me keep in the Circle."

"You took it with you when you escaped?" Hawke asks, surprised.

"It wasn't easy." Anders smiles faintly. "I had it stashed down the back of my robe for three days straight when I was planning. I wasn't sure when I'd have the opening, you see."

"It must mean a lot to you," Hawke says.

"It does."

(That night, Hawke has a Very Serious discussion with Dog. They know too well how the mabari likes to chew.)

Anders never goes to bed without it. Which isn't to say that he never _sleeps_ without it, of course - it's far, far from uncommon to see the mage sprawled out over the desk or the couch, glowing faintly as he drowses. But on the nights when Hawke can coax the mage into bed properly, it's never without the pillow in his arms, and Hawke's even offered it a few times to help him relax when Anders is in his more agitated moods.

Which is why Hawke worries when Anders tries to give it to Varric. "I don't need it anymore," Anders explains when Hawke asks, and no matter how Hawke tries he will say nothing more of it.

They leave it behind when they flee the city. It's among the least of what they've lost, Hawke knows. And there is much, much more disturbing the healer's sleep than the loss of a pillow. But Anders curls around his pack in his sleep like he's trying to fill the gap and Hawke, already raw and worried, feels their chest tighten at it.

There's a package with Varric's second letter, a courier rather than the usual messenger bird surprising them on their way to Ostwick. Hawke understands before Anders even tears away the wrapping, but they both can only stare at the item in his hands.

"I expected him to be angrier," Anders finally manages.

"He probably is," Hawke says carefully. "That doesn't mean he's not still your friend."

It's a somewhat bulkier addition to their bedrolls, Hawke supposes. But that night, Anders sleeps peacefully for the first time in months, arms wrapped over carefully embroidered flowers.


	4. Chapter 4

"Are you... knitting?" Hawke asks, flopping down on the couch.

"I'm a man of many talents," Anders replies, needles clicking away.

"And what, exactly, are we knitting today?" Hawke asks.

"Scarves," Anders replies, holding it up to see. "For the Knight-Commander."

"... interesting pattern," Hawke chuckles.

"I do my best."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as an allusion to the recipient's tags on a post involving Anders sending Meredith scarves with middle fingers on them.


	5. Chapter 5

It's maybe months since Kirkwall when they hear the first one. No one here knows who they are, beyond fellow fugitives from the templars, and the pair hardly stand out amongst the crowd of apostates and Circle escapees. The singer hadn't either, a young woman with a lute and a carrying voice.

Anders turns to stare as the first few notes ring out, stunned as the words reach him. "Is that-?" Hawke asks. Anders can't breathe. "It's for you," Hawke whispers. "They're celebrating."

Anders can't believe it. He feels his eyes stinging and scrubs at them, pulling his hood farther over his head. Hawke just smiles, warm, teasing. "I bet she'd teach it to you if you asked," they mutter, wrapping an arm around the mage and leaning into him. Anders laughs, watery, returning the embrace, and they just sit and listen as the song carries through the camp.


	6. Chapter 6

The first winter on the run is freezing. Hawke had forgotten how harsh Fereldan winters could get after so many years in Kirkwall.

"New plan," Hawke announces, shrugging their cloak free as they enter the small, abandoned cabin the pair has made their temporary refuge. "I'm thinking Rivain?"

Anders snorts at Hawke's words, looking up from his letters at the shoddy desk before him. "A little cold?" Anders asks, wrapping his arms around Hawke. "Here. Let me fix that..."


	7. Chapter 7

"You look tired."

Hawke turns at Anders' voice, half out of their dress clothes. "Look who's talking," they joke, but there's not a lot of heart in the words, and when Anders embraces them they lean gratefully into his embrace.

"Long day?" he asks quietly.

"Mm." Hawke pulls him closer. "The Champion of Kirkwall," they mutter, "could use a break from the adoring public."

"Then why don't I tell Bodahn to send them away," Anders replies, "And we'll draw the curtains and relax."


	8. Chapter 8

"Oh, I should stop by Lirene's later. I'm out of spindleweed."

Anders realizes the misstep of his casual proclamation seconds too late, watching the slow grin spreading across Hawke's face with dawning dread.

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Hawke says cheerfully.

Oh no.

"In fact..." Hawke continues.

Oh, _no_.

"I think I'll come with you," they finish. "We'll make it a night on the market, meet you there after dinner."

Hawke's out the door before Anders can respond.

And so it is that Anders finds himself being dragged from stall to stall, growing increasingly flustered as Hawke attempts to pile more and more things onto him.

"Love, I don't really-" he tries to protest, to little avail, as Hawke holds up a pair of boots thoughtfully.

"Yes, I think they're about your size," Hawke chatters, either oblivious to or intentionally ignoring Anders. "We can stop by the cobbler to get them fit properly. Oh, while we're there, I think there's a tailor in the area who can-"

"I like my coat as it is!" Anders manages"

"We can get another one in that style!" Hawke tells him. "You have to admit, that one's getting worn. And we can do colors - I think you'd look dashing in black-"

"Hawke-"

"You know, I think there's a jeweler's there too - were you talking about wanting another earring? We could-"

"Hawke!" Anders says sharply, finally startling his lover into silence. Anders sighs, rubbing a hand over his temple. " _Why_ do you keep doing this?"

"Doing what?" Hawke asks, and Anders honestly can't tell if the innocence in their voice is faked or not.

"These - these _shopping ambushes_ ," Anders tells them. "If I needed something, I'd ask, or buy it myself. You know that."

Hawke turns to him, brows furrowed. "They're gifts, Anders. You're not supposed to _need_ them."

"You have better things to spend your money on," Anders tells him.

"What, than family?" Hawke asks.

"I..." Anders has no answer to that. After a long moment, he takes the boots from Hawke's hands, examining them. "... I suppose they _are_ practical," he says with a tentative smile, and Hawke returns it tenfold.

"To the cobbler's it is!"

"You're still not buying me a new coat."

"I can live with that."


	9. Chapter 9

Anders groans, covering his eyes and leaning back in his chair. The furniture in the Hawke Estate is  _infinitely_ more comfortable than the wobbly stool and desk Anders is used to from his Clinic, an improvement that is, currently, actively working against him, the soft plush of the armchair tempting him into closing his eyes. Just for a few moments... but no, he shouldn't.

He can hear Hawke snoring in the corner. Anders feels a little bad about that - he'd told his lover, repeatedly, to turn in without him, but Hawke had insisted they weren't tired, at least up until the point when they'd slumped over entirely, book in hand.

The whole thing, really, is utterly surreal. Not even a month ago, Anders had been writing in a cluttered, dingy Clinic, jumping at the slightest noise and working until he finally passed out on one of the nearby cots or, more frequently, his desk itself. And now, his biggest concern is that his space is _too_ nice for him to work himself to exhaustion, that the chair is too soft, the fire too warm, the light snoring of his lover too loud.

It's a good problem to have. More mages should have a chance at problems like this.

Oh, that's a good thought, he should - he should do something with that, he thinks, work it into the newest draft. The unalienable right of every man to - something about falling asleep in a lover's arms, maybe? Maybe he'll just... rest his eyes... and think on that.

He wakes up with a blanket draped over his shoulders, ink smudged across his face, and a plate of cold toast and jam waiting on the table next to him. Yes, he thinks blearily, these are very, very good problems to have.


	10. Chapter 10

"She's as bad as Meredith!" Anders shouts. Hawke doesn't have to ask how the Grand Cleric has received his latest manifesto. "Power-hungry-" he turns on his heel. "'I have to think of the people of this city', like who? Like the clerics leave Hightown, unless it's tithing beggars-"

"Well, you must admit, those gold statues must be very pricy to maintain," Hawke says. "How can she spare anything on problem solving?"

Anders laughs. "Thank you, love. I knew you'd understand."


	11. Chapter 11

"Out of the kitchen, both of you!"

Orana's voice was uncharacteristically sharp, though, Hawke supposed, panic could do that to a person. Hawke thought she was overreacting - okay, the bucket of water Hawke had dumped over the fire may have made things worse, but they really thought Anders was on to something with that ice trick.

"You know," Anders remarked as the pair stood, watching smoke slowly trail from the kitchen. "I really think I'm getting the hang of cooking."


	12. Chapter 12

"Well, your patients seem... very grateful."

Anders doesn't respond, only staring at the package in front of his Clinic door.

"Where do you think it came from?" Hawke asks. "Lirene's? Or maybe one of the dockworkers; it has that 'fell off a ship' look to it, if you take my meaning."

"What... even...  _are_ those?" Anders manages at last.

Hawke shrugs loosely. "Beats me. Some type of fruit? I think the qunari import them or something?" Anders boggles. Hawke leans in closer. "Oh look, there's a note! 'To: the Healer. Thank you for everything. I know you won't take coin, but I hope you can make some use of this.' Well that was nice of them." They glance back at the crate. "I think. They're at least edible, right? They look edible."

"Please don't-" Anders begins.

"I'm going to eat one," Hawke declares.

"Hawke, no."

"Why not? Worst comes to the worst, I have a healer on hand."

"Hawke, no! It might only be edible for Qunari, or need to be prepared specially, or-" Anders protests, to no avail, as Hawke plucks one free and, after some examination, bites into it.

They make a face immediately, spitting. "Oh, no, I think you're supposed to peel it."

"In the name of the Maker, Hawke," Anders groans, a hand coming up to his forehead.

"Oh, now it's not so bad. Here, try some-"

"No!" Anders swats his lover's hand away, trying not to laugh. "Maker's breath, you're impossible, you know that?"

"Professionally, even." Hawke grins.

"Who just leaves a crate of fruit outside someone's door, anyway?"


	13. Chapter 13

Anders had never learned a lot in the Circle.

This, Hawke knows, is by design. Most mages are barely out of their mothers' skirts before they're taken to the Circle - they've never gotten to learn how to survive on their own, and the Circle does everything they can to prevent them learning.

Hawke thinks, privately, that this explains a lot about Anders. Because Anders has  _hobbies_ , varying, wild jags that he throws himself into with abandon from time to time, distractions that Hawke is amazed Justice approves of. He nearly burns the kitchen down three times teaching himself to cook; he learns to knit, to start a proper fire without a shred of magic, to pitch camp - he even wheedles Isabela into trying to teach him to pick locks, not that he proves to the slightest talent for it. Every little practical, forbidden thing he can think of, he tries, and as terrible as he proves at most of it, Hawke can only smile to see his enthusiasm.

There's not a lot of joy, their first night alone on the road, only Anders still at Hawke's side after the long months since Kirkwall. Their victories have been too far and few between, their packs too light, their stomachs too empty. But Anders smiles, just a little, when the flint sparks in his hands, and Hawke decides that the smallest rebellions are the most satisfying.


	14. Chapter 14

Anders isn't used to sharing a bed.

Anders has shared  _living spaces_ before, of course. He shared quarters in the Circle - not that there were many restful nights there, between the demons and the templars - and he'd shared more than enough tents and inns with assorted other Wardens, not to mention the occasional tent during the longer expeditions outside of Kirkwall. For all that he's been sleeping alone - or as alone as he can be anymore, at any rate - for the past few years, Anders really thought he'd have less trouble adjusting. But sharing a  _bed_ , as it turns out, is very different from sharing a room.

Hawke, he's starting to suspect, has the same troubles. Because his lover tosses, and turns, and kicks, and elbows, and snores and steals the sheets and then when the dog tries to join in the fray, the couch begins to look more than a little appealing.

But then again, Anders wakes up every morning now with Hawke, invariably, having wound their arms around him, the mage feeling warm and loved and so very, blissfully, unforgettably not alone, and Anders thinks that perhaps he can get used to this after all.


	15. Chapter 15

Anders never used to wear it openly.

He'd been touched, of course, when Hawke had given him the favor - an old Amell tradition. But displaying it had felt wrong - like he was leaving Hawke vulnerable, advertising the Champion's heart. And what if it was damaged in combat, or bloodied in healing? He couldn't risk it.

Now, though, he feels the fabric in his hands, winding it around his fingers, and when he presses it to his lips he remembers, and waits for Hawke to come home.


	16. Chapter 16

"I can't believe it," Hawke tells him.

"Uh-huh," Anders says, visibly not listening.

"My own lover, abandoning me."

"It's very tragic," Anders says, shrugging on his coat.

"Leaving me here to suffer. Maybe to die!" Hawke declares dramatically.

"For the last time, Hawke," Anders says, turning. "I do not have a spell to cure colds!"

"I see a light," Hawke continues. "I feel the Maker welcoming me home..."

Anders just chuckles, kisses them, and leaves.


	17. Chapter 17

Anders is crying.

Hawke doesn't really blame him - they'd have thought they would, too, if this ever came. But it still doesn't feel real, the Divine's announcement too fresh to have really sunk in yet.

Hawke approaches him slowly, and leans into the embrace as he offers it, clutching tightly. "I can't believe it," Hawke manages.

"After everything..." Anders mutters back.

"We did it," Hawke whispers. After everything... all the blood and death... the mages are finally free.


	18. Chapter 18

"Should I be jealous?"

Hawke's voice is amused as it comes from behind Anders, making the mage jump, then flash his lover a slightly guilty smile.

"Sorry, love," Anders says. "I just-"

"You don't have to apologize, Anders," Hawke continues. "I knew what I was getting into when I brought him home." Hawke smiles. "He's wonderful, though, isn't he?"

"He really is," Anders says, running his hand gently over the cat's fur. "Thank you, love."

"Anything for you. Anything."


	19. Chapter 19

Anders gets the first invitation not a month after the Deep Roads expedition, the carefully caligraphied card arriving at his door alongside a basket of breads and jams. Anders assumes it's a joke at the time - Hawke's sense of humor has always been a bit... odd, after all, and even this soon into their association Anders is more than familiar with his friend's thinly veiled attempts to foist food or money upon him. And it's not like Hawke says anything about it, either, the next time they meet. It isn't until the next one arrives, a handwritten note scrawled at the bottom of the invitation this time - ' _please_ ' - that Anders starts to wonder if there's more going on here.

It's funny. Not even a year ago, he'd have been thrilled at this kind of prospect - a night of fine food and wine, not to mention at least one noble guaranteed to be more than tolerable company? Who could possibly turn that down?

Him, apparently, the mage reluctantly explains to Hawke. He'll gladly accompany Hawke on their various - he'll be charitable and call them 'errands' - or even to a night at the Hanged Man, but even if he weren't so busy with the Clinic and the Underground, this type of event would be entirely too high profile for the fugitive apostate.

"I understand," Hawke says, and for three years that's the end of it, aside from the occasional smuggled hors-d'oeuvre dropped off at his door after hours.

Until the Qunari invade. Until a duel with the Arishok names Hawke the Champion and drags Anders, unwilling, into the spotlight, the increasingly infamous apostate sheltered by the Champion. And suddenly, _everyone_ wants to know about Hawke's love life.

"I'm still not sure this is a good idea," Anders says cautiously, reluctantly shrugging on the dress clothes recently fitted for him.

"What happened to telling the world and the Knight-Commander that I love you?" Hawke asks.

"You take these things _entirely_ too literally," Anders tells them.

Hawke takes his hand, giving a reassuring squeeze. "Sometimes there's safety in notoriety," they tell him, and damn it all, but they have a point.

And so it is that Anders finds himself  _mingling_ , nervously rubbing elbows against Kirkwall's nobility.

"Enjoying yourself?" Hawke asks him a few hours in, with the most _obnoxious_ smirk Anders has ever seen.

"About as much as you are, I think," Anders tells them. " _This_ is what you've been trying to drag me to all this time?"

"Oh, don't you know?" Hawke tells him. "This kind of suffering is best shared with the one you love."

Anders snorts despite himself. "Well, I'm glad to oblige."

"You know, though..." Hawke continues, drawing closer. "That wasn't the _only_ reason."

"And what..." Anders looks them over. "... was the other one?"

Hawke takes his hand. "If you'll oblige... I believe I'm three years overdue for a dance."

Then again, perhaps Anders has been too hard on these kinds of things.


	20. Chapter 20

Anders cannot for the life of him pick up after himself.

Hawke doesn't know  _where_ the habit came from - if the mage's long hours lead him to distractability, or if this is simply the first time Anders has _had_ enough for the habit to become obvious, but everywhere he goes, he leaves traces of himself. He scatters dirty socks under the bed, scrapped pages from his manifesto in the books, and feathers on all the furniture. He leaves flour and butter and who knows what else scattered about the kitchen when he cooks, drops crumbs on the furniture, tracks dirt across the carpets, even stains half the flat surfaces in the Estate with elfroot and assorted other herbs. Even the man himself is included in this - he falls asleep at strange times in stranger places, Hawke stumbling across the mage anywhere from the chair in the library to  _behind the wine cask_ of all places.

Anders had felt like a stranger here when he had first moved in, Hawke knows, barely daring to take up the slightest of space. Now, there's not a place in the house where he hasn't left signs of himself.

Hawke can't imagine anything more wonderful than that.  
  



	21. Chapter 21

Everything here tastes like despair.

Hawke had thought that was funny all those years ago, on one wyvern hunt slash heist slash Qunari mission apparently, but several weeks of good old Anderfels cuisine had somewhat soured the joke. The Anderfels are hot, and dry, and miserable in ways Hawke had not even anticipated, and the Wardens at Weisshaupt seem... strange.

But when Anders comes, he is worn and ragged and covered in sand, and when they kiss he tastes like home.


	22. Chapter 22

Anders has quite possibly the worst hay fever they have ever seen.

Hawke really shouldn't find this so funny, they know, but they can't help it. Anders is a healer, one who spends just about every day working with various herbs and flowers, and yet the moment he steps into Hightown in the spring...

And it only gets  _worse_ on the run, Maker help them, what fugitives they make.

"It's not funny," Anders says, glaring halfheartedly over his kerchief. Hawke just stifles the laugh.


	23. Chapter 23

"Why don't you have those printed?"

Somewhat blearily, Anders looks up from the latest copy of his manifesto, slowly parsing Hawke's question.

"Your manifestos. You're always doing all these copies by hand. I can foot the printing bill," Hawke continues, a tentative offer, "If that's the problem?"

"I - no, I can't-" Anders sits up properly, rubbing his eyes as he tries to find the words. "I'm sorry. I've been spending so much time on this and I haven't even-" He trails off, blinking against sleep. "Have you ever had something printed?" Anders manages.

"No?" Hawke takes the seat nearest him, leaning closer. "Is it very difficult? I'd have thought that Varric could take care of it."

"I wish it were that easy," Anders tells them, then sighs. "All mass publications go through the Viscount's Office, Hawke."

"What?"

"You can't print without a license," Anders says.

"But Varric-"

"Varric's signs are jokes," Anders interrupts. "No one's getting their blocks confiscated over a good laugh. But that doesn't mean any of the shops have any intention of crossing the Knight-Commander. And it's not so easy to just buy your own press from the market."

"I'm sorry," Hawke says.

"It's all right," Anders says, forcing a shrug as he turns back to his desk. "It's easier to make revisions like this, anyway."

Anders comes back from his Clinic the next night utterly exhausted, drained and aching in every bone, to find a new stack of papers on his desk, Hawke sitting beside them with a quill and a pot of tea, and cannot believe his eyes.

A new set of familiar, decidedly illegal fliers hits the streets of Kirkwall the next week, papered in every corner and hidden to find in various corners, and if anyone recognizes the loose, scratchy print now mixed in with the familiar cramped cursive, if anyone remembers it from some dealings or another, no one says anything.

(Even Aveline.)


	24. Chapter 24

It's the little things that get them.

The milestones they'd both thought of as 'big' had come and gone - the first kiss, the first night together, Anders moving in. In all their years of mutual pining and guilty, quiet fantasy, such ground had been trod and retrod, to the point where the reality seemed matter of course.

But when they first announce themselves to their friends, when first patient asks after Hawke's health, when Leandra sets out an extra plate, it becomes real.


	25. Chapter 25

Anders has lost a lot of vanity since his time in the Circle. Justice has no real understanding of such things, and Anders has little time for frivolities now.

He doesn't really mind, he tells himself - it had mostly been to spite the templars, anyway, bright and loud and refusing to be broken. He doesn't need such things anymore.

But Hawke... Hawke looks at him, sometimes, like he's the most beautiful thing they've ever seen, and damn him, but he'd forgotten how good it felt.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Blink and you'll miss it reference to Anders not being able to drink alcohol since Justice

"I have tea!"

The proclamation - made in place of any of the greetings or, failing that, desperate emergencies Anders has come to expect from Hawke's visits, does nothing to lessen his confusion. Anders blinks, slowly, at the arrival standing at his door, trying his best to make sense of why, exactly, after - Maker, over two weeks - of no contact, Hawke has turned up on his doorstep, barely after he'd closed his Clinic for the night, holding  _tea_.

Is he missing something? Anders tries to think, remembering the last time they'd talked. Hawke had swung by a few times after the Deep Roads expedition, dropping off 'shares' as the various relics they'd retrieved had gone to market. Hawke had invited him to the Hanged Man, he remembers, but he'd been too busy to take the other up on the offer, dealing with the biting winter that came with the end of the year and distributing what supplies he could. It wasn't like he could drink, anyway, and he didn't have anything to spare on cards, so there was little point to him showing up.

If Anders is being entirely honest with himself, he'd half figured the invitations were just politeness, Hawke too grateful for the Deep Roads maps to summarily cut ties now that his usefulness was at an end.

He's... surprised, that it's looking otherwise.

Hawke shakes the box of tea leaves slightly, trying to recapture his attention, and Anders shakes himself. Finally, he manages to respond - "Why?"

"Well, there's not much point in bringing wine you can't drink, is there?" Hawke says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and Anders' confusion only grows, then amplifies further yet when Hawke continues, "Mind if I come in?"

Anders doesn't know what to do but let them, ushering his visitor to one of the cleaner seats left available in the Clinic. He feels suddenly, strangely self-conscious of the mess - he keeps things as clean as he can, obviously, but he's been so busy with the rush, and he has to prioritize anything infectious - with all that, it's easy for other things to get... scattered. Tonight's been strangely quiet, he should take advantage of that after Hawke leaves to straighten up, he decides. But first-

"Is everything all right?" Anders asks.

"Just making sure you're still alive," Hawke answers with a laugh, setting the box down on Anders' desk before they take their seat. When Anders doesn't respond, they clarify, "It's tradition, isn't it?"

... oh Maker, it's First Day. Anders can't believe it - in all the excitement, he'd _completely_ missed the start of the year? It's... Anders doesn't know what to think.

Holidays used to be special for him, in the Circle. Even in the tower, they'd celebrated, fruit and desserts served with the usual bread and stew, mages sparking fireworks amongst themselves. It was one of the few times the templars would let their guards down somewhat, when the mages could associate something resembling freely. He and Karl had always...

... well, First Day had been special, at any rate. He can't believe he'd forgotten it now.

"... I wasn't aware I was a neighbor," Anders says at last, cautiously.

"No? You're right downstairs," Hawke tells him, lips twitching, and Anders can't help but laugh a little at the words. More seriously, Hawke continues, "You haven't been by the Hanged Man in a while."

Anders shrugs uncomfortably, not quite meeting Hawke's eyes. "I've been busy."

"Right. But, you know..." Hawke hesitates, and Anders glances over to see the other suddenly fascinated with a loose thread on their sleeves. "I don't know that Wicked Grace has been quite the same," they manage.

Anders is silent for a long moment. Slowly, he tells them, "I... don't have much to spare on cards."

"We'll play for coppers," Hawke says immediately. "I can spot you, you can pay me back only if you win."

Anders lets out a short laugh. "That doesn't happen often."

"Still." Hawke chews briefly on their lip. "I'd like the company."

"... you really want me there?" Anders asks, still disbelieving.

"I really do."

Anders smiles, and he's not really sure where the lightness in his chest comes from as he stands, retrieving Hawke's gift. "Why don't I put on the kettle?" he asks, "And we'll toast to new beginnings."


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing ranging out of T territory, but this one is a biiit risque.

The bonds around his wrists are silk, not steel. Easily burned, if he has to - not that he will, of course. That's the point of this. Trust. Submission. Anders breathes, inhaling his lover's scent, feeling the slight curling of Justice in the back of his mind, concerned at his unease, and Anders forces himself to relax.

"Are you okay?" Hawke murmurs, hands warm and gentle against his waist. Anders looks up, remembering. This is his, he thinks. His to take back, to own.

"Never better," he says.


End file.
